


A Third One Wouldn't Either

by royaltyjunk



Series: Wishing Until My Heart Goes Cold [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: “If not Frelia…” she closes her eyes softly before looking up at him, “then serve me.” Written for Rarepair Week.





	A Third One Wouldn't Either

**Author's Note:**

> A request sent in for ferarepair-week2k17 by markoftheasphodel on Tumblr. No prompt used.
> 
> I LOVE CORMAG/TANA. If you read “One Found Love, Another Did Not” [shameless self-plugging], you’ll know I prefer Ephraim/Myrrh and leaving Tana’s feelings unrequited. I also really like Cormag/Tana, because I feel bad for leaving my Best Girl™ not paired up, and their supports are really sweet. Their paired ending is very ambiguous, which leaves a lot of room for speculation [and me making headcanons and then wanting to kill myself]. It’s nice that I’m in the mood to write Magvel, probably because I’m replaying SS right now.
> 
> This serves as a parallel to “One Found Love, Another Did Not”, being Cormag’s side of the pair, but it’s not required that you read it first.
> 
> Transferred from FF.net.
> 
> Disclaimer: I say this too much, but I don’t own Fire Emblem.

He’s flying through the dark sky, dodging clouds and whistling to the tune of a song with forgotten lyrics when he sees her crying.

She’s clutching onto Achaeus, her hand tight around the reins, and he makes to call out to her, but notices the lost look in her eyes and the tears that follow her on her path throughout the sky. She’s holding a hand over her mouth, and he can tell she’s holding back sobs and the tears that blossom in her eyes. He can’t help but feel as if he’s intruding on her.

Cormag jerks at Genarog’s reins, turning the wyvern away from the princess. Yet, as if sensing his rider’s distress, he lets out a screech.

Achaeus neighs in response, and Tana snaps out of her reverie, wiping her eyes rimmed red and looking around. She spots Cormag with a guilty look on his face, and she gives him a shaky smile before urging Achaeus forward.

“Your Highness, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

He’s cut off when Tana laughs. It’s a gentle laugh, her usual laugh, but there’s a hint of emotion that he can’t quite pinpoint in her laugh that’s almost never normally present in her.

“It’s fine,” Tana murmurs softly, “Innes always did tell me to pay more attention to my surroundings.”

“Still-”

“At ease, Cormag,” she says teasingly, wiping at her eyes. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine.”

“…My apologies,” he whispers.

Tana just shakes her head, a bittersweet laugh bubbling up from her lips. When he looks at her questioningly, she gives him a small smile.

“It’s not your fault, Cormag. You needn’t worry about me. That’s Innes’s job after all.”

Cormag sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair. “Still-”

Genarog screeches suddenly, and Cormag has barely any time to react before he’s thrown to the right. Tana pulls at Achaeus’s reins, and the pegasus lurches to avoid the wyvern that comes crashing at it. An arrow whizzes by the princess’s ear. In a flash, she’s diving down, and he soon loses sight of her. He turns in a panic, trying to locate Tana.

“Princess!”

A blur of white swoops past him, and she soars back, a splatter of blood on her lance.

“I got him,” she gasps, “he was by himself.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says, but the look in her eyes betrays her. Still, he pretends to trust her, for her sake and his own.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s the only thing he can say because he’s still trying to calm down, trying to regain his breath. They stay beside each other, the gentle beating wings of their mounts the only thing that resounds in their ears.

“I think that’s enough flying for now,” Cormag murmurs under his breath, and Tana nods mutely. Wordlessly, she leads Achaeus into a downward spiral, and he follows her.

She dismounts on a hill of flowers and grass, overlooking the city of light under the gaze of the starry night in Rausten. He lands beside her, watching her sit down and gently stroke her pegasus’s muzzle.

She turns to look at him then, an indecipherable look in her eyes. “Thank you for earlier, Cormag. If I hadn’t known…”

“Thank Genarog,” he murmurs. “He’s the one who warned us.”

“Oh, right… In that case…” Tana leans forward and puts her hand on Genarog’s head, her touch tender and her fingers gentle. “Thank you.”

Genarog sticks out its tongue to lick her fingers, a slight smile on its face, and Cormag leaps off of his wyvern, standing beside her. “It’s nice to know I have a partner like him.”

Tana smiles up at him, but her smile is bittersweet, like she’s remembering something that she shouldn’t be. “It’s nice to always have Achaeus, but sometimes-” she cuts herself off, and Cormag tilts his head.

“Sometimes?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Still, I dislike how some people will misinterpret our connection with animals.”

Cormag doesn’t respond and just sits down beside her, tilting his face up towards the Rausten sky.

“I’m glad the war is over, though,” Tana shakes her head and continues, giving Genarog a final pat before turning to look at its rider. “It’s nice to see that we can finally restore the country to the peaceful way it used to be. It makes me happy to think about that, and the way we’ll repair our bonds with humans and animals alike.”

“I agree. War itself is madness, whatever the cause for it is, but it’s even more so if it’s for greed or the illusion of power.”

“I’m glad our efforts paid off. No more lives ought to be sacrificed for others’ selfish wants. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, but you should not have been racing headlong into battles the way you did. What if you had been claimed by the strife of war? No one would have been able to help rebuild Frelia.”

“You sound like Innes,” she murmurs, plucking a flower from the field and releasing it to the wind, letting the gentle breeze carry it far from her. Her smile is melancholy, her happiness subdued. She flops back into the grass, and he follows, laying beside her. “Others can help rebuild Frelia. I’m not always needed.”

He tucks his hands behind his head and begins to talk. “Yes, you are. You’re the princess. We soldiers are expendable, but you regal types aren’t.”

“Oh, don’t say that. The war is over now, isn’t it? No one’s life ought to be thrown away.”

“But it’s true.”

“Do not throw your life away,” she whispers, her eyes glued on the starry sky above them. “Allow me this one simple promise.”

“…As you wish, Princess,” he smiles, closing his eyes and letting the gentle tinkle of her laugh lull him to precious memories of everything and nothing.

“Thank you.”

~ / . / . / ~

When Prince Innes comes back into the ballroom, Princess Tana isn’t accompanying him, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes, a look that Cormag can’t just ignore.

General Duessel stares after him when he slips out of the crowded ballroom, but doesn’t question him, and simply waves him off when Cormag catches his gaze.

Slowly, he walks along the carpeted hallways that lead through the castle, hearing the din of the ballroom in the background grow softer and softer. He knows where her room is - he saw her run into Innes outside of it.

Gently, he approaches the wooden door. He leans up against it, listening and searching for a sign of the princess inside.

Nothing.

He opens the door carefully, and is greeted with nobody. Anxious to find the blue-haired pegasus rider, he closes the door and makes his way back to the ballroom. Innes frowns when he gets back, and Cormag approaches the Prince of Frelia.

“Your Highness, if I may?”

“Go on, Cormag,” he says, and takes L’Arachel’s hand when she comes up next to him.

“The princess is missing. I checked her living quarters, but I could not find her.”

“She’s not in her room?” Innes asks, worry sprouting in his eyes.

“No. I’m not sure where she could be. She hasn’t left anything in her room, either.”

“Is she not usually in the courtyard, if not her room?” L’Arachel interjects from beside her husband.

“Ah, yes. She’ll be there, most likely. If not, go to the sea. She couldn’t have gotten too far.”

“I will, thank you,” Cormag bows to Innes before looking at the woman beside him. “And… ah… congratulations.”

L’Arachel laughs, and Innes just smiles before waving him off.

Cormag follows the cobblestone path out of the ballroom and towards the center of the castle courtyard, where the drastic change in lighting makes him squint. If he tries hard enough, he can see the general silhouettes of everything against the smallest sliver of moonlight.

There’s a person seated on a wooden bench, tucked against the arm of the chair. Her head is bowed, and her lips move in soft and silent prayer, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Your Highness.”

Tana jolts, whipping around and glancing over her shoulder. She squints to make out his figure, watching him draw closer and closer. When he gets to her side, he can make out her features clearly. Her eyes are puffy and red, her hair matted and tangled.

He kneels beside her, and looks at her. Her black eyes are trailed on her hands, her fingers clenching so tightly and unclenching so little that her knuckles have gone white, and there are crescent marks on her palm, courtesy of her sharp nails.

“Cormag,” she speaks suddenly, lifting her gaze.

“What is it?”

“Why did you fight in the War of Stones?” She asks softly.

“That’s a subject of the past, Princess. We shouldn’t be discussing this,” he counters, sitting down beside her on the wooden bench.

“I’d watch you fight sometimes, when we were paired up and… it made me sad. I never really knew why,” she continues, ignoring his blunt warning to stop.

“So you noticed.”

“Is it bad that I did?” Tana asked, staring up at the small sliver of moonlight that accented the night sky.

“I know from experience that there are many reasons why a man would fight. Atonement, like General Duessel. Revenge, like I had joined for. Entertainment and fun, like Valter… For power, like Caellach. Yet, looking back now… I can’t say I know the reason why I fought, even as I hungered to kill the man who slaughtered my brother.”

She turns to look at him, opening her mouth to respond, but Cormag cuts her off.

“Did you expect more from me? I lost my faith a long time ago, Princess. Could you have expected anything from a man whose emperor went mad, whose homeland crumbled because of him? Someone who killed men he knew, soldiers he sparred with?”

Tana closes her eyes, lowering her head. They sit in silence, not a comfortable one, but not an awkward one either.

“What are you doing now?” She whispers.

“Rebuilding Grado. I’ll leave soon. They’ve branded me as a traitor. No one will come close to me. I have no home waiting there for me anymore. Grado is no longer the great kingdom I once lived in.”

Cormag doesn’t expect to hear much from Tana, and when she does speak, he almost forgets how to breathe.

“Then why don’t you come to Frelia?”

“What makes you think a traitor like me will be welcome in Frelia?”

“The War of Stones ended two years ago, Cormag. No one will remember. If anything, they’ll remember you as a hero of the war.”

“I’d like to hear you say that to all the people back home- in Grado.”

Tana shakes her head, keeping her eyes pinned on her hands, laying limp in her lap. “You’re no traitor, Cormag, and you never will be. You stayed true to your beliefs. I think I understand now, where your sadness came from.”

“Do you?” He asks, but he already knows how she’ll answer.

“You were saddened by your own country’s betrayal of those beliefs. Aren’t I right?”

“Maybe.”

“Your sadness ran as deep as your faith for Grado once ran. Yet, I saw past that sadness. I saw passion, strength. I saw faith. And now, where will those things go? To a broken country that you yourself cannot call home? You ought to serve Frelia.”

“Thank you for the offer, Your Highness, but I cannot reforge or replace the oaths that I’ve broken. I’m sorry.”

She laughs bitterly. “I understand. If you somehow find it in your heart to serve your beliefs again, remember me.”

Cormag shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll keep up this soldiering nonsense. Perhaps I’ll start up woodworking instead.”

“Then I’ll track you down in your woodshop and ask again.”

He snorts. “You’re surprisingly persistent for a princess.”

Tana looks at him for the first time that night, and he’s lost by the look of joy in her black eyes, despite the dried tears that streak her face and her tangled blue hair. When she speaks again, her voice is filled with insistence and, strangely, happiness, like she never cried.

“You should come live here. In Frelia.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says, and for once, he really does think about it.

~ / . / . / ~

She finds him eighteen years after her brother’s wedding, scraping away at wooden sculptures in an old village on the outskirts of Grado.

Gingerly, he sets the new wooden figurine on the stand. General Duessel stares back at him, his obsidian axe imposing but his eyes warm. He smiles at the memory of the old man, who had once been the closest to a father that he could have had. Now he was just a memory, buried beside the Grado Keep, where he’d once served Emperor Vigarde with no questions.

He glances over the display of wooden carvings, situated on a parchment map of Grado. There’s Selena, a gentle figure who smiles like there’s no tomorrow, her hand clutched around a fluorspar stone. Her body was left to rot in the west villages of Grado, under rivers and trees too intricate for Cormag to carve.

Next to Duessel is a man clothed in shaman robes, a dark tome grasped tightly in his hands. Knoll had been lost to the arcane magics long ago, and Cormag could not help but wonder if it had been in his intention to die the way his prince had once died.

Of course, in the lush forest that grows outside of his rural village lays his brother. The wooden carving of Glen smiles back at him, a sunstone in one hand, a spear in another, and his wyvern, soaring through the skies. Cormag’s not sure why, but every time he sees the carving, he feels like nothing has changed since their time together - that nothing was wrong, nothing ever went wrong. That Glen will walk into his woodshop, smile gentle, and then praise his brother.

Yet, Cormag knows it’ll never happen, because it’s impossible to bring back the dead.

Beside Duessel and Knoll is a stalwart man who has a gentle look in his eyes, a gentle promise to protect his people. Emperor Vigarde stand strong over Grado Keep as a stone statue in the garden of the castle, his corpse lost to the qualms of war and destruction. Cormag could still remember the man Emperor Vigarde had once been, the strict yet kind-hearted man.

Far off, to the northeast of the map, in the approximate location of the Darkling Woods, is an unfinished sculpture of Prince Lyon. His robes are intricately carved, the dark magic spilling from his hand fashioned in such a way that makes him believe that it’ll actually kill someone, but his face is simple; calm and tranquil, with a well of knowledge hidden behind his black eyes.

Cormag doesn’t have any fond memories of Prince Lyon - rather, they are calming, and easy to forget. Only a few are terrifying, and they are with thanks to the Demon King.

He finds himself reminiscing about days long before the War of Stones, and before Grado came crashing down, before Emperor Vigarde even had a disease, before Prince Lyon had met Prince Ephraim and Princess Eirika of Renais, before Glen was a general, even before they were invited to the militia, a time where it was just him, his brother, and the world ahead of them.

Where had it all gone wrong?

The soft sound of footsteps distracts him, and he turns, expecting to meet a customer, or a young child who has perhaps ventured a little too far from home.

Instead, he comes face to face with the Princess of Frelia.

She hasn’t changed much over the eighteen years. Her face has grown sharper, and she’s gotten more muscular, yet retained her slim lady-like figure. Her blue hair is still as long as before, and her hands rest at her side. On her belt is a Silver Sword, a clear sign that she’s been working diligently at her battling skills.

“Your Highness,” he murmurs under his breath.

“You really did start a woodworking shop.” Her voice still sounds the same, a sweet voice that smiles with joy.

“I didn’t say I had much else to do, did I?”

“I suppose not,” Tana says, running her hand through her hair. He can see streaks of gray, dotting her long blue ponytail. “Why didn’t you come back to Frelia?”

“I guess I never found my reason for fighting, or my beliefs.”

“Why not?” She asks, and suddenly she’s twenty one and pushing him for answers, and he’s twenty three, blunt-mouthed and cold-hearted.

“I never bothered to look, Princess.”

“And why not?”

“I never wanted to. Do you think I was happy with my betrayal? That I would look back on it every day and holler in pride. All I wanted was to simply defeat Valter. I had never meant to… destroy my country like that.”

“What’s done is done, Cormag,” she whispers.

“Then what can I do now? Wallow in pain and feel pitiful for myself?”

“Move on. Serve Frelia, Cormag,” she whispers, clutching her hands on her heart. “It’s been so lonely lately… Syrene and Vanessa are both in Renais… Brother and L’Arachel are gone half of the time… And Father, oh Father…”

“Princess, I’m old. Genarog’s gone. What can I do that will benefit Frelia, even if I do serve your country?” He questions.

“If not Frelia…” she closes her eyes softly before looking up at him, “then serve me.” In that moment, he returns her gaze, and her eyes are so pure and innocent, it’s hard to believe that she’s a moon away from forty.

So he laughs, and when he does, it’s a gentle laugh that lets true happiness bubble up in his chest since a long forgotten time before the War of Stones.

“Alright, Your Highness… Tana.”

**Author's Note:**

> The titles are supposed to be read together, like this: “One Found Love, Another Did Not, A Third One Wouldn’t Either”.
> 
> This fic can also be summed up as: “Cormag and Tana get their B and A-Support levels a little too late and cause all the events that are supposed transpire after the game to be pushed back so Tana never falls in love. So blame Cormag.”


End file.
